


I Felt Your Shape

by stormwalkers



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Romance, Siblings, author exposed as soft and tender, post-TEG, too hot out for tea so they drink each other in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwalkers/pseuds/stormwalkers
Summary: “Mary was always the shortest of us,” I said. “We would keep track of our heights with a chart on the wall. Then I left home, and…“What?”I looked at him. “I guess we stopped growing together.”Lucy gets a letter from home.
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 17
Kudos: 81





	I Felt Your Shape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flames and Fairy Tales (Flames_and_Fairy_Tales)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Fairy_Tales/gifts).



> Written for the epic 2020 Lockwood & Co. Discord Summer Garden Party! It was a joy to write for you again, Mar. A million thanks to Achilles Angst for being the most sparklingly efficient beta reader a girl could ask for.

It was a rosy day at Portland Row. Soft and bright and bursting, as if the world was in a rush to be lovely again. Winter was over; as the nights grew shorter, the ghosts grew weaker, and London came alive with the promise of summer.

That being said, the Problem was still here, and we were still agents. And agents could never ignore the Problem. Whoop-de-doo. Our schedule for the week was booked and timetabled with military precision by Holly; but our workload _had_ slowed, which meant Lockwood & Co. had the weekend off. We didn’t mind a bit of free time under the sun—some winter days, we were lucky to squeeze in a change of socks and a snack before the next anxious client came calling—and we each had our ways of passing the time.

George had turned the basement into a temporary laboratory, no doubt cackling over a cauldron like some kooky old witch. Now that there were no haunted skulls around to experiment on, he’d aimed his efforts at old Rotwell gizmos, searching for ways to rev up their abilities. I only hoped I’d be able to fetch my laundry later without inhaling some sort of toxic gas. Lockwood had been sent shopping. Holly and Kipps were off doing whatever it was they did outside our little Portland Row bubble—enjoying the quiet and lack of fumes, presumably.

Me? I was in the garden, soaking in the day’s warmth among the foliage and grass. If you’d passed by, you might even think I was relaxed.

You’d be wrong.

The sun beamed through the sky like a lit torch on a patch of blue silk. Our apple tree was dressed for summer, its crown dotted with tiny pink buds. We’d recently been making an effort to spend more time in the much-neglected garden, enjoying the ghostless hours between jobs; we’d even accumulated a motley selection of garden chairs. An iron bench had been unearthed during our house repairs—taken in for the winter by Lockwood’s parents years ago, I guessed, and never taken back out. Now it stood by the old lavender bush, derusted to the best of our ability.

I sat there alone, with a letter in my hand.

_Dear Lucy,_

_I think about you every time there’s news from London. That Fittes Agency!It’s a right mess, isn’t it? Just gets dodgier and dodgier. Bet you’re thankful you missed out on that job now. How’s business with Lockwood & Co.? I bet it’s brilliant! And how have you been, Lucy? I know the ratio of Mary letters to Lucy letters isn’t always equal on my part, but don’t ever think I don’t give a damn about you. We’re busy and all, but you’ll always be my baby sister. Let us know, yeah? Especially if there’s a lad in your life I need to be worried about! Though I can’t imagine some Southern boy’s got your heart twisted. You always were too wise to bother with that._

_Speaking of lads… An important thing’s happened here, too. Lucy, I need to tell you about Jasper. That’s Jasper Duncan—from the village football games we used to play. He’s a mechanic at the bike shop in Wooler now. You’ll never guess what your big sister’s got herself into now—Jasper’s asked me to marry him! He’s a respectable sort, Lucy, and he loves me. Me! We’ll need to get everything sorted first, of course. But it’s going to be the best… He’s the best, that one._

_Mam’s doing well. Write back soon._

And there, beneath where Mary had signed her name:

 _P.S.: I really_ do _give a damn about you, you know._

I stared at my sister’s letter.

You know that feeling when you misjudge your footing on a staircase and step into empty air, heart lurching like you’re going to fall? That was how jarred and disoriented I’d felt reading Mary’s words. If I’d had a mug of tea, I would have spit out its contents.

My sister was getting married. Last time I’d so much as _heard_ of Jasper Duncan, I was in hand-me-down dungarees and pigtails. I hadn’t even held a training rapier yet. Was it normal to feel a hundred years old and all of five at the same time?

And how had the distance between Mary and me grown so wide that I hadn’t had a clue? We hadn’t written to each other in months.

I touched my necklace, turning the sun-warmed sapphire between my fingers. Of course, I had neglected to tell _her_ certain things, too…

“Luce?”

And there was the main thing, stepping off the kitchen stairs and making his way toward me.

My mood instantly brightened. Lockwood’s dark hair netted the sunlight, his smile competing with its brilliance; his eyes squinted, just as if he’d spotted a death glow. His skin was pale as ever, somehow untouched by the sun’s rays. Then again, most of his time—most of _our_ time—was spent indoors or in the dark of night.

“I was wondering where I’d find you.” Lockwood leaned over the bench and pressed a kiss to my temple, lighting a tiny fire under my skin.

“Didn’t expect you back from the shop so soon,” I said. “Did you get the—“

“I got you the ketchup crisps you like,” he finished, grinning.

Despite how I was feeling, I couldn’t help but grin back. “Thanks.”

“Got milk and tea, too. Talcum powder and cornflour for George.”

I made a face. “What?”

“He asked. I don’t think we want to know. I hope he isn’t cleaning up one of his messes.”

“Or creating one.”

“He’ll be fine.” Lockwood scratched his nose. “Probably.”

“I’m more worried about the rest of us,” I said, “and what kinds of diseases will linger in the air after he’s done.”

Lockwood laughed. “You were wise to go outside, Luce. Imagine—surviving the Other Side and the wrath of Marissa Fittes only to be fumed to death by George Cubbins. Do you want company?”

“Always.”

Lockwood arranged his long limbs on the bench beside me. Our thighs touched, and we smiled at each other. I thought his dark eyes were cloudier than usual, his lids heavier. “You’ve not been sleeping properly, have you?” I remarked.

“How’d you figure?”

“I can tell. It’s impossible to get you to rest, even when we finish a job early and the rest of us have crashed out.” I grinned at him. “Honestly, Lockwood, I wish I could put a spell on you sometimes.”

He laughed. “You already have.” Which was a lovely, if slightly eye roll-worthy thing to say—the sort of thing Lockwood got away with. My stomach fluttered all the same. “And, well, my nights have been rather warm lately. Lots of tossing and turning.”

My face probably turned every shade of red. “Stop it, or I’ll think you’re making a pass at me.”

“Would you mind terribly if I was?”

I wouldn’t, and Lockwood knew it. He began to lean in, but I drew back before he could reach my mouth. “You can’t just get out of talking about things because you can kiss me now, you know.”

He gave a grin. “I can try.”

I had to give him that. We looked at each other, both silently daring the other to swoop in. A subtle breeze played in his hair; anticipation sang in my blood. We sat like that for a few charged seconds, my hand casually lost in his. Our relationship was still new, but it had been like this for a long time. When I touched him, my fingers remembered. They could draw him in dreams, on paper, in air. Eyes open to meet his, or closed for a kiss.

And kiss me he did.

I smiled into his lips, sighing happily. With his arms around me, I could almost forget about my family up north and Jasper, the happy bike mechanic.

Then Lockwood reached for my hand and found my sister’s letter balled up within. “What’s this?”

I untangled myself from him, already missing the lovely warmth of his lips. I wouldn’t have objected to an extended kissing session, really. “It’s from Mary.”

I filled him in on my sister’s news, and he listened attentively. “So,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

I shook my head. “Fine.”

“What did you just say about getting out of talking?”

He was smiling, and I nudged his shoulder. “It’s just a lot to take in, Lockwood. Mary’s only two years older than me, and I hardly know Jasper.”

“Have you spoken to your mother?”

“No,” I said dryly. “Hardly at all. My mother knows I’m still alive. That’s probably plenty information for her.”

Lockwood looked away, squinting at the bright sun. I normally considered myself something of an expert in reading his facial expressions; but not this time. His face was mellow, but his usual untroubled grin was nowhere to be seen. I wondered what was on his mind.

“Will you go, then?” he asked. “To Mary’s wedding.”

I blinked. I hadn’t actually thought about it. “I don’t know. I should, shouldn’t I? She’s my sister.” _The only one who still thinks about me,_ I didn’t say.

Lockwood shrugged. “No _should_ about it. It’s your choice, Luce. But you clearly care about Mary. What’s she like? Does she know about what we’ve been up to here?”

I wasn’t sure if he meant _we_ as a company—the mysteries we’d solved, the conspiracies, our decisive role in the fall of the Fittes Agency… or what Lockwood and I’d been getting up to in private when the others weren’t around. Either way, the answer was no.

“Only the stuff that went national,” I said, shaking my head. “And the little I’ve included in my letters. Mary’s kind. Excitable, I guess. I felt like _I_ was the older one sometimes, with the way she’d overreact to things. Especially supernatural stuff. She’s shorter than me, too—but she still calls me her wee sister.”

Lockwood smiled, and I reached over to intertwine his fingers with mine. I liked how our hands looked all woven together, his larger, mine smaller. A perfect fit.

“That’s how it is when you’re the older one, I suppose,” he said. “Can’t be easy to watch your younger sibling grow up. She’s got you beat in other ways, though—getting married and all.”

“Yes.” I gave a mighty sigh. “I don’t know, Lockwood. My last trip home was not a cheery affair. But somehow, I feel as if I owe them. Because _I_ ran off to London. Because _I_ stopped supporting them.” I raked my hair behind my ears, puffing out my cheeks. Frustration was taking over. “My sisters practically raised me, and I hardly even know them anymore. They might as well not be there.”

I’d come a long way since leaving the north. I’d grown immensely, and I had much to be proud of. But in order to go anywhere, you have to leave something behind, don’t you?

I’d been slowly losing my family—all except Mary. Now I wondered if I’d ever really had them at all.

Lockwood just looked at me, and the sad fondness in his eyes became unbearable. I continued, heart crawling up my throat. “And I feel awful, Lockwood. Like I’m being selfish. How can I complain? At least _my_ sisters aren’t…” My tongue bulged like a blowfish in my mouth. I looked away, flush with embarrassment.

“Dead?” Lockwood finished. His smile was cheerless.

If all the blood hadn’t actually drained from my face, it certainly felt like it. “Sorry,” I croaked. “God, Lockwood. I’m sorry.”

“Luce…” His voice was apologetic, as if _he_ should be saying sorry.

I couldn’t look at him. Instead, my eyes focused on a patch of purple by the side of the house… the lavender bush where, according to Lockwood, he and Jessica used to sit as children, making flower garlands for their hair.

Great, just great.

There I was, mourning a perfectly living family in front of a boy who’d lost everything. I felt like the world’s grandest idiot. If I wanted, I could get on a train and be having tea with my sisters in a matter of hours. Lockwood didn’t have that luxury. Only a house full of memories, some faded shrubbery, and the deep eyes and dark curls his sister had shared.

His family had loved him. And he would never see them again.

“Sorry,” I whispered again. But Lockwood just put his hands on my waist and drew me to him and kissed me for so long, I could have forgotten my own name.

When we resurfaced, he nudged his nose against mine. “You’re upset,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

My eyes began to prickle, and I sniffled it away. “Do you mean that?”

“I do. What you said about being taller than Mary—it made me think of her. My sister.” He took a breath, leaning back against the bench. “It’s strange… I have no sense of Jessica’s size, really. I was so young when she died, and small enough that everything in the world seemed huge. Especially her. In my mind, she still is.” He laughed softly. “Although I’m fairly confident I’m taller now. I practically grew a foot and a half overnight at thirteen, you know.”

I smiled at the image of little Lockwood waking up twice the length of his bed. _My_ bed, I realised, in the attic room that I now inhabited. How things changed with time. An intimate rush crackled like electricity across my skin, as it always did when Lockwood shared a piece of his past with me. It was a special thing, and I didn’t want to take a single word for granted.

“Mary was always the shortest of us,” I said. “We would keep track of our heights with a chart on the wall. Then I left home, and…

“What?”

I looked at him. “I guess we stopped growing together.”

We were quiet for a bit. I raised Lockwood’s hand to my lips and kissed the soft skin over his pulse; his fingers grazed my cheek. “You can miss her,” he whispered. “A person doesn’t have to be gone forever for that to be allowed.”

”You still miss Jessica.”

“That’ll never stop. You know, I kept the house exactly the same—as if she might walk back in, expecting her stuff to be where it was. My parents, too. But that was years ago. This isn’t a mourning house anymore. It’s _our_ house. Which is a bit cheerier, wouldn’t you say?”

His smile was genuine, and it was contagious. “Yeah,” I said, “it is.”

“I’m not going to tell you to be grateful, Luce. You don’t owe it to me—or anyone—to love your mum and your sisters. If you want to, do so on your own terms. If you don’t…” He gave me a smile, the cute one that crinkled his nose a bit. “We’re your family, too.”

My face warmed in a way I couldn’t credit solely to the summer heat.

Lockwood was right. Since I left home, I’d become someone else. I’d grown into my Talent, finding my place among the living and the dead. My mother and sisters had a different way between them; a way of cowering in the shadows, resigned to wait out their nights in fear, opposed to growth and change. If the world was a field, they’d be standing under a great rock off to the side, and I’d be out of the fold, facing the stars.

Mary was the exception. I still had Mary. But my _real_ family—the one I’d chosen—was at Portland Row. And there was so much more power in the choosing; in making the effort. This had become startlingly clear since I’d returned to Lockwood & Co. last spring. When George was beaten, when Kipps had nearly died…

When Lockwood had tried to sacrifice himself at Fittes House and I’d realised I never wanted to live without him.

 _This_ was the family I couldn’t bear to lose.

“Even you?” I said, smiling.

“Ah, in a different way.” Lockwood pinched the chain of my necklace between his fingers, just grazing my skin. “But yes. Always.”

My knees weakened, and my belly fluttered wildly. _That_ I couldn’t credit to the heat at all.

Lockwood’s arms wrapped solidly around me; my leg left the ground to hook about his waist as my head lolled against his shoulder, eyes falling closed. My necklace pressed into his chest. We sat like that for a while, breathing together.

Maybe I _would_ go to my sister’s wedding. It could be our chance to reconnect, make things right. Mary deserved that much, even if we’d fallen out of touch. That old blue dress had to be somewhere in the bowels of my wardrobe… possibly fossilised, but probably wearable.

I smiled to myself. Maybe I would take my Southern boy with me. _That’d_ be something for them to talk about.

“Well,” said Lockwood when we drew apart, “we’ve no jobs or clients to see until tomorrow, and it’s a lovely day. How would you like to spend it?”

I thought about it, tapping my chin. “There’s always kissing,” I said. “I could definitely stand some more kissing.”

“Right you are.”

Turned out we could both stand quite a bit of kissing, for a rather long time. The sun was bright and hot, but it could have turned black and extinguished itself for all I knew—it was Lockwood’s warmth _I_ basked in.

Then…

“Oi! Haven’t our neighbours suffered enough without a daytime show from you two?”

We broke apart; George materialised on the kitchen stairs behind us, looking chuffed as a medieval serf who’d just been given an extra fat leech with his gruel. His _True Hauntings_ t-shirt and grey joggers were grievously stained with things beyond human comprehension.

Lockwood gave a laugh and called back, “Fence is high, George!”

George put his hands on his hips, revealing additional stains. “Walls are thin, though!”

“They’re solid brick!” I objected.

“Not where there are windows, Luce.” George shook his head. “Not where there are windows.”

“Is the basement safe to enter yet, George?” asked Lockwood.

“It will be when I’m done, I promise. I wouldn’t want you to dock my allowance, would I?”

“Tidy up, or you won’t get any treats today.”

“Lucy, can we get a new owner? I’m tired of this one.” But the grin on George’s face was ineradicable; his experiments must have yielded results. “I thought you should know there’s a rumbling in the walls by the rapier room. Unless you two have grand plans of staring into each other’s eyes and taking turns sighing contentedly, we might want to get it checked. It’s either rusty pipes or a loose Wraith.”

Lockwood turned to me. “Well, let’s hope it’s the pipes, then.”

“At least that’ll be someone else’s job to take care of,” I said. I smoothed out the crumpled letter, making a mental note to write Mary back that evening. Then we went to join George inside.

I looked at our freshly restored house, with all its familiar oddities and old bruises. The same, yet new. George was doing his nutty scientist bit; my laundry was in the dryer. And here was Lockwood, smiling at me. Life had a way of rearranging itself, even with damage and loss.

Tomorrow, we’d be back to work, dealing with clients and business calls and all the terrors of the night. But for now, the sun was shining; I had the day off, with my family here to share it.

It was a simple, happy thing. And it was all I needed.


End file.
